Bucky bit back the sharp insult that had been sitting on his tongue for the best part of a century. There was a level of defiance even he couldn’t get away with, and besides, he had a job to do.
From where he was crouched on the roof of the crumbling church, the night dropped out from under him and fell into Budapest. It tipped over the ledge, plummeting down like the falcons that now eyed Bucky suspiciously from the eaves.
The scene was like something out of the best gothic horror novels, a setting and premise to rival Shelley and Poe and Walpole. Even down to the crawling unease in the air, like some part of Bucky, stirred crazy over the years, felt the church itself balk at having him step on its stones. He could almost imagine a vibrating resistance under the rubber soles of his boots, a horrified distaste that a creature of hell would have the nerve to look at a house of god, let alone plot murder on top of it. The dislike was mutual. It was only Bucky’s healthy respect for beautiful architecture that stopped him scuffing black marks onto the buttery beige underfoot.
do
u think buckys arm makes overheated computer sounds when he blushes due
to his rise in body temperature like imagine steve kissing his cheek
and suddenly u hear “WHIRRRRRRRRRRRRR” (x)
ealdor 